


What Once Was

by TooCreative4Life



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: Last Stand
Genre: Charles is dead, Erik Has Feelings, Erik has Issues, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, Heartbreak, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loss, M/M, Mansion Fic, Memories, Pheonix kills charles, Post - X-Men: The Last Stand (2006), Post-Cuba, Pre-Reboot, Reminiscing, Sad, Sadness, Tears, X Mansion, coming home, original timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 13:54:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5668429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooCreative4Life/pseuds/TooCreative4Life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is dead and Erik misses his friend. He wants one thing that he left behind years and years ago to remember his dearest friend by.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Once Was

The wood door creaked open, hinges squealing due to age and disuse. Erik stepped into the room slowly and carefully, as though he were walking on eggshells, despite his lack of time. The mansion would only be empty an hour or two. Charles would have called him a fool for being so brazen, coming into the other man’s home while all its occupants sat in rows of black out on the lawn. Be he foolhardy or idiotic, the insufferable guilt and regret fueled rolling in the old German’s gut drove him back to the place he had once belonged.

Erik’s gaze swept over the familiar space as he pushed the door till it clicked shut. A sliver of sunlight streamed into his old room through a gap in the curtains, dust dancing through it, disturbed for the first time in forty some years. Though there was no light other than the stripe through the air and across the dull floor illuminating the space, Erik could tell that not a single thing had been moved since the last time he stood in the room. His bed, perfectly made with crisp corners, sat against the right wall of the room; the desk remained as he had left it, other than the thick coating of dust; the old leather armchair still faced towards the closed window with a book on the table beside it.

Erik started towards the chair, eyes locked onto its brown leather. His slow steps sounded louder than thunder, echoing through the almost barren room as he moved across the wood floor. Decades ago Charles had tried to put rugs in the room, but Erik had refused to let him. His crinkled lips quirked upwards as a light chuff puffed past them. The dumbfounded confusion he had watched knit Charles’ brow line in a tight knot was still as amusing to him then as it had been in the moment. “ _Who wouldn’t want a rug to wake up to in the morning rather than a stone-cold floor?_ ” His friend’s voice rang clearly in his ears, though it was only a memory. Erik’s chuff turned to a chuckle as he recalled how Charles had gawked at him as if he had sprouted a second head when Erik was struggling to take one of the library chairs to his room. A thin smile to split his lips as he recalled each memory when he had managed to make the unflappable Charles Xavier, prodigious biologist and one-day destined to be a great professor, splutter like a fish.

Erik’s step faltered, a loud bang echoing from his memory. _Charles’ scream tearing through the air around him, freezing the blood in Erik’s veins as he watched his friend fall to the sandy ground. The gun dropped. “We’re brothers, you and I. We want the same thing.” “I’m sorry, my friend, but we do not.”_

A startled grunt escaped Erik, having knocked into the chair while he was lost on the beach in Cuba. Waving a hand about to clear the torrent of dust, Erik walked around to the front side of the chair. The leather still hadn’t cracked, causing the old German’s mouth to quirk upwards in a smirk. He had spent a good deal of time taking care of that chair, and used it almost as much. His aged-steely gaze landed on the small picture, half obscured by the book in front of it and shadowed by the lamp’s shade from above.

With as much care as if he were handling a masterpiece Erik gently picked up the wooden frame, cradling it in his palms. Despite Erik’s tall stature, the man appeared to shrink as he curled around the precious item. The photo was from what seemed to be another life to him; one that took place almost half a century ago when he shared Charles’ hope for everything, yet felt like an eternity had passed since then. They stood side-by-side, brother-by-brother surrounded by their friends, smiles shining brightly in spite of the faded sepia tone. They had taken it just days before everything fell to pieces. Erik’s fingers curled around the frame, chest tightening as his lips turned down and his eyes went to the ceiling.

“Can you ever forgive me, Charles?” His eyes turned glassy and his hands shook as he looked back to the photo. “I am so sorry, for everything that I’ve done to you,” he murmured, running a finger over the clouded glass, looking at his friend’s youthful face.

Never in all his years had Erik Lensherr ever felt so truly alone as he did looking at that ‘family’ picture while standing alone in his room, while his oldest and dearest friend was put to rest outside. Though they did not often see eye to eye, Erik did not hate Charles, he had not meant for the other man to die, no matter what Charles’ students might think.

For the first time since meeting Charles on the boat over forty years ago, even after their quasi-brotherhood shattered on that Cuban beach, Erik felt well and truly _alone_. His lip began to shake as much as his hands, tears building and prickling behind the elder man’s eyes. A burning numbness spread over his body and mind, enveloping him like scratchy old blanket he thought that he had burned a long time ago. Erik’s wrinkles deepened, eyes scrunching shut and lips pressed together tightly as he could manage, in an effort to rebottle all the emotions that wanted to escape. In as smooth a motion he could make, the old German turned and began the echoing trek back the way he had come. He clutched the small photo tightly in one hand, refusing to let go of his one remembrance of a time long past, while the other stretched hesitantly towards the doorknob. As he turned it, Erik paused, stilling while his gut churned once more. He glanced behind himself at the room he had once called his own, the center of his anger and serenity. Once it had been pristine, organized and contained like both everything and nothing else was in Erik’s life.

Then all he had needed to fill the space was himself, a book, and Charles’ wondrous laugh. All he had left was himself and a tiny snapshot of what once was.

“Goodbye, old friend,” Erik whispered, looking over the old dusty space one last time, eyes glazing over as he stepped out, shutting the door behind him, a single click resonating in the empty room.


End file.
